


Some Days (Like This)

by 3BeesAndCoffee3



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky is in love but he’s not gonna say it, Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Protective Steve Rogers, abuse recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 15:23:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14216067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3BeesAndCoffee3/pseuds/3BeesAndCoffee3
Summary: It’s a work in progress, and some days he feels like he makes leaps forwards, and sometimes he feels like he’s moving slow as molasses.Or: Bucky’s having a bad day in his recovery and Steve knows how to make it better.





	Some Days (Like This)

He’s trying with everything he has and then some. He’s trying so hard his head hurts and his eyes burn from staring too long, unfocused. He’s trying to be okay again, because he hasn’t been in a long time. 

It’s a work in progress, and some days he feels like he makes leaps forwards, and sometimes he feels like he’s moving slow as molasses. The only thing he can really feel thankful for about this process, is that he doesn’t take so many steps back anymore. He knows it’s not all himself, he knows it’s the therapy and the fancy pills, and Steve. He’s a lot of things, a mess is certainly one of them, but he’s not strong enough to get better— be better- on his own. He’s not supposed to belittle himself, though Bucky thinks that’s just Steve talking and not actually therapy related, but it’s true, so he tells himself it’s okay. 

He gets up and showers most mornings, and he eats breakfast in the kitchen with Steve. He drinks coffee, probably more than he should even, but it’s kind of addictive and he can now, so he does. It’s not weak and watery, almost muddy like it was at the camps during the war. It’s domestic, and that’s really why he likes it. His routine is domestic and nice, and it makes him realize domestic isn’t something he’s ever truly had. 

Most days he eats and showers, dresses, goes to therapy or to doctor appointments or even to the store, but not every day is most days. He still has days where his brain is foggy and messy, like there’s a switch in his head and it got flipped overnight, and now it’s stuck. Some days he doesn’t even get up, he just stays in bed, warm underneath all of the big, soft blankets that Steve owns. Steve shares everything with him, like it’s all Bucky’s too, just as much as it is Steve’s, even though he hasn’t really done anything to deserve it. He shouldn’t talk down on himself, but it’s true, so it’s okay. 

There are days that Bucky can’t even eat, his body won’t be able to stomach it. He knows because he tried to force it, more than once even, for Steve, but the contents of his stomach end up in the sink or tub, the toilet if he can get there fast enough, within minutes. Sometimes his brain is too much of a mess of bad memories that he just needs to not exist for a while, but Steve kind of helps with that. 

Today, even though Bucky doesn’t want to admit it, because he and Steve had made plans to go to the local farmers market today, is one of those days. He wakes up already feeling sick to his stomach, but he’s glad he didn’t have any nightmares. He wakes Steve up screaming and thrashing like It’s day one again when he has nightmares. 

The blankets are blissfully warm as always, especially with Steve’s body heat radiating to his left. He feels cold, but the room is just warm enough (it always is) that he can fight off the ideas and memories of Cryo. He doesn’t want to go there, not today, not ever again, if he can help it. He’s gotten surprisingly good at blocking those memories out when he doesn’t want them, and he feels a small swell of hope and pride at that. He is making progress, he knows because he can see it and Steve assures him too much, it’s just been slower lately. 

He just needs to forget and relax and maybe not exist for a while. 

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asks from besides Bucky, his voice soft and gravely from sleep. He probably woke up seconds after Bucky, like a monitor went off. 

Bucky nods a little, staring up at the ceiling. His back hurts when he lays on it, stiff, but moving seems like a lot of work right now, so he stays. Verbal answers are important, though, he’s heard everyone tell him that a million times, so he musters up some words and an actual voice. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he says.

“Really okay or okay like you don’t wanna talk about it?”

“Maybe both,” Bucky resides, sighing. He scrunches up his nose, he hasn’t made much progress in gauging his feelings. He still can’t find words that’ll accurately describe what he’s feeling, and anything that’s close enough drives him up the wall, because he wants to actually communicate and convey what he’s feeling like he physically couldn’t before. His inability to even do that (he shouldn’t make it seem so simple, but it’s hard not to, it’s just talking, right?) makes frustration bubble up inside of him. 

“Definitely both,” Steve agrees with a soft smile that Bucky can just make out from the corner of his eye. He’s propped up on his elbow, turned on his side to face Bucky. He’s giving him all of his attention and Bucky isn’t even facing him, he’s not even trying to. He’s supposed to meet people half way, or try to, but he’s not trying at all today and he only feels a little guilty for it. 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs. He knows Steve is always right anyways, so any doubts in his head are put to rest like an ember being doused in ice water. 

“You want breakfast, maybe?” Steve asks, always precise and ungodly patient. He wonders if the serum gave him this patients because he doesn’t remember his hot headed, weak and tiny Steve waiting patiently for anything in his life, and he’s fairly sure that memory isn’t faulty. Maybe he just has this patients now, because of Bucky, for him. 

The thought of breakfast doesn’t sound bad, really. He thinks he could stomach some toast and juice, probably, especially if he takes it slow. But he’s been besides Steve all night, and the idea of the weight and warmth besides him disappearing makes his stomach coil uncomfortably. It’s selfish, to expect Steve to wait on him, hold him and coddle him whenever he wants, to cook for him and fucking bathe him sometimes, but he isn’t sure he could do anything he’s done so far without it. Without Steve’s devotion and constant support, he thinks he might fall apart. 

“I’m okay,” he answers dismissively instead, which isn’t really an answer at all, let alone he answer Steve’s looking for. 

Steve doesn’t miss a beat though, he never does. “Are you hungry?”

Bucky shrugs, he isn’t really sure. Sometimes he can’t tell what he needs or feels. It’s one of those times. “I don’t know, not really. Maybe a little.” 

He sees Steve nod, and he’s sure if he looked at him, his stupid blue eyes would be full of understanding. Steve understands him more than he understands himself. “Maybe in a little while,” he says, and Bucky nods. Later sounds okay, or at least better. “You wanna get up?”

“No,” Bucky responds softly but quickly. That’s something he does know, and he knows he doesn’t want to get up. 

“Okay, that’s fine.”

There’s a stretch of silence then, and Bucky kind of hopes Steve will break it and say something that’ll lighten this tension he’s feeling, but he stays quiet. He should ask for what he wants, just like his doctor and Steve tell him to, he’s already being selfish. What’s one more request? He’s already damned selfish. He tries not to think negatively, because it does help him feel better, but today isn’t a good day, and today those thoughts don’t want to stay away. He doesn’t really try to keep them away either, it sounds like too much work. 

“Steve?” He has no idea what he’s going to say, but now he’s expected to say something. Anything, really, but his brain is drawing a blank. 

“Hm?” Steve asks when Bucky doesn’t continue, focusing his attention fully on him again. He can’t tell if he does that out of worry or habit. Neither, or maybe both.

“Can we just-“ he sighs, tries to collect himself and make the words come out. They feel stuck in his throat. He wants to be understood, he’s spent too long ignored and without a voice, and now that people will listen, he wants to be clear about what he needs. Or even wants, really. “-can we stay here today? Just in bed?”

Steve considers, which makes Bucky feel a little better. It makes him think that Steve doesn’t just feel like he has to give Bucky whatever he wants. “How about a while longer until you feel better?”

Bucky nods a bit, like he’s unconvinced. He doesn’t want to do anything today. “What if I don’t feel better later?”

Steve shrugs. “Then we’ll work from there, Okay?”

“Yeah, Okay.”

“But we can stay in bed for now, Okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees. “I’m holding you to that.” He pulls the covers up a little over his shoulders. It’s warm under the covers, his body pressed into the ridiculously soft mattress, dressed in pajamas that aren’t quite his but they’re not really Steve’s anymore either. It’s safe and easy to relax here. In here it’s just Steve and bed, and safety, and he can deal with that. That’s okay. 

“Okay, deal,” he says softly, smiling. 

Bucky gives a curt little nod and sinks back a little more. He feels like if he moves from his little cocoon that the earth might swallow him whole. He’s ungrounded today. He needs to tether himself down, but he doesn’t have any idea how. Usually he just gradually spirals out of control until Steve shakes some sense of himself back into his body that feels too big, too empty, too heavy. 

“You still with me?”

Bucky grunts softly. He’s vaguely here, so whatever. He’s gonna slip away anyways, eventually. 

“Not really? Kinda?” Steve smiles, jabbing his finger into Bucky’s side. He squirms aside to try and avoid it, making a disgruntled noise. 

“I’m here, shut up,” he grumbles. His lips threatening to pull up into a smile. “Just kinda fuzzy.”

“How can I help?”

Bucky shrugs again. He doesn’t know, honestly. If he did, he would do something to fix it himself. 

“You need space?”

“No,” Bucky says, because he does not want to be alone. Not physically or mentally. “I need you.”

“Okay, that’s fine,” Steve assures, scooting a little closer. Even that tiny adjustment feels better. 

“Can you just- I don’t know,” Bucky sighs again in defeat. Every time he thinks he knows what he wants to say, it gets caught in his throat or dies on his tongue. 

“Hold you?” Steve offers, because of course he knows. Steve always knows. 

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Okay, c’mere,” Steve says, sitting up a little so he can prop himself up and back against the headboard. He holds his arms out a little and Bucky forces himself up so he can maneuver himself against Steve, half in his lap. “Better?”

“Yeah, a little bit,” he agrees, snuggling into Steve’s chest. If he pulls himself into a tight enough little ball, he fits pretty well in Steve’s lap. 

They lay like that for some time, with Steve combing his fingers through Bucky’s hair, gentle. They don’t talk much, but when they do it’s brief and usually something witty that makes Bucky laugh a little. Eventually he slides back down under the covers so he can lay down, resting his head in Steve’s lap. It’s nice, he feels double the safety. Steve continues to comb and stroke his hair, and Bucky can look up at him through his eyelashes. He feels grounded, if he thinks about it, and he does feel better. He’s never had that happen before, where Steve can hold him and make it all go away before it manifests into something worse. Usually Steve saves him at the end of it all. Sure, Steve can calm Bucky down after he’s tired himself out enough from the panic, but never before the worst hits, when it’s still bubbling under his skin. He can’t express the pride and gratefulness he feels. 

So long as Steve doesn’t go anywhere maybe he’ll be okay. Maybe he can make another step forward, it feels like one. 

“Wanna watch something, Buck?”

“Sure,” Bucky says groggily, voice kind of gruff from so little use. He’s sleepy from laying in warmth and being doted on, but he doubts he could go back to sleep, so TV sounds nice. It’s a new luxury he’s still getting used to, but he definitely enjoys it. 

“Okay,” Steve agrees and grabs the remotes from the table besides the bed without jostling Bucky too much. He flips through the channels and eventually leaves it on some nature show, but it’s vaguely interesting and the background noise is nice regardless. 

“Thank you,” Bucky hums, looking up at Steve again from where he’s still resting, cradled by Steve. 

Steve smiles down at him and for a minute there’s too much space between their faces. Bucky wants to be so close to Steve he can touch every inch of him. Steve’s presence is what’s keeping him together. “You know I don’t mind.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky shakes his head. “I do though.”

Steve smiles with mild understanding, which is all Bucky can really ask for. “It’s nice, you keeping me company.”

“I’m great company, a real laugh,” Bucky retorts, giving Steve a displeased look. 

Steve just grins at him, flicks his side like Bucky absolutely loathes. “You know what I mean.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, because he doesn’t really. He can guess, maybe he’s just being nice, maybe he really does enjoy Bucky’s awkward silences and odd gestures, but he wants to hear him say it regardless of the answer. “No, I don’t. Enlighten me,” Bucky teases. 

Steve heaves a sigh, loud and extra dramatic. “It’s nice, just having you here, just-,” Steve pauses before shrugging his one shoulder like he does. “-just having you back.”

“I guess,” Bucky says, a little softly. He doesn’t feel like he’s back though, not really. He’ll never be Steve’s Bucky. He might as well be a completely different person now. 

“I’m serious,” Steve urges, looking down at him with his brows furrowed. “Just having you here, in the same house, it’s good. It’s great.”

“It’s the best you can get,” Bucky offers up, a little dryly. He’s not mad at Steve, he could never be. He’s mad at himself, for not being right, for not being gathered and the person Steve deserves and probably aches to have. 

“Don’t do that,” Steve says, but he just sounds sad, which hurts more than anything else he could have done. “I hate it when you do that.”

Bucky worries his lip between his teeth, letting the blood rise to the surface a little and let color blossom there. “Sorry.”

“I don’t care that you’re-different, whatever,” Steve says like he’s said it a million times, practiced in a mirror. Maybe he has. Probably has. “You’re still Bucky, you’re still alive and here, right?” Bucky nods, because he is, mostly. “Hell, I’ve changed too, it’s not like you can walk through fire unscathed.”

“Poetic,” Bucky smiles, because he’s getting really good at dodging seriousness with sarcasm. It’s not a great coping mechanism that he’s developing, but it takes that heavy feeling off of his chest so he doesn’t care too much. 

“Shut up, I’m serious,” Steve says, clearly exasperated. 

“So am I,” Bucky shrugs from his awkward position in his lap. 

“Fine, be a jerk, I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Yeah, me too, I think.”


End file.
